More and more lately, I have been choosing solo masturbation over sex. It’s not that I don’t have easy access to sex. I have a number in my phone I could dial for a quick booty call, no questions asked. I have Uber and alcohol and the chance to take home that cute guy that’s making eyes at me across the bar. And if those options both fail, I have my Tinder account and am always just a few swipes away from a guy in my area who would be more than willing to come over and do the dirty.
I also have a guy I’ve been sort of seeing for awhile- he’s sexy and he makes me laugh and he’s good in bed. Actually, if I’m really honest with myself, I think I might really have the feels for this guy… but in classic commitment-phobe style, I choose to live in a state of denial or risk ruining whatever chances we might have going. So I have all of these sexual options- yet again and again I find myself alone in my bed choosing my vibrator and PornHub over actual human interaction.
Why? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, and I can’t quite get it figured out.
First of all let’s be honest, my vibrator, unlike a man (sorry guys) is guaranteed to get me off. I don’t have to show off, or compromise, or speak any words, or try to guide your hand to the right spot because for some reason dudes fingers ALWAYS land about an inch and a half away from the actual location of the clit, no matter how many times they’ve touched a vagina. I don’t have to put on makeup or sexy underwear, I can rock my Harry Potter briefs and a giant t-shirt and I’ll still look at myself like yeah, you can get it. I can watch the kinds of porn I like with no shame or niggling wonder of whether or not my partner is into it. And I can do it on my time; in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, in the morning ten minutes before I need to leave for work or after dinner when I have that giant food baby I’m not trying to let my crush see.
These things have always been true, however, and it’s only recently that I’ve begun preferring this solo situation over actually getting fucked. I played around with the theory that my body is literally tired of being penetrated: when I get it on with myself I’ve been using a no penetration, clit stimulation only method. Which has been awesome btw. So maybe this is my body’s way of saying “hey bitch, your hoe phase is over, stop letting dudes you don’t care about get inside you” (I’m pretty sure if my body could talk, that’s how it would sound). This theory seems plausible because I have literally no sex drive- which is strange for me- except when it comes to DIY sex. It’s more about treating myself and relaxing than anything else, and in the past my sex drive has been all about feeling wanted and sexy.
This isn’t to say I think having casual sex is bad thing, or even that it’s something I won’t return to. This isn’t one of those articles where borderline-slutty-girl-realizes-casual-sex-is-hollow-and-wrong-and-becomes-good-girl-instead, and writes about how she was only having casual sex because of that really horrible break up she had anyway. I haven’t suddenly realized that I am a more fulfilled person when I’m not getting it on for fun. I don’t think casual sex, or any of (ok most any of) my sexual decisions have been mistakes, or hollow, or just stepping stones I had to hit on my way to finding Prince Charming and Happiness and Monogamy. It’s more like a temporary hiatus where I’m taking the time to love myself, literally and figuratively. Because it’s not about how a guy, or sex with a guy makes me feel or not feel. It’s about how being with me makes me feel. It’s taking my sex-positive vibes and applying them to just myself for a change, and honoring what my body is asking me for. Turns out my body is asking me for early bedtimes alone and a goodnight video from PornHub. Also for a Pizza Luce pizza, but that’s another story.
Words by Gwen Campion
Photo courtesy of Gwen Campion